


Flabbergasted

by Carlton J Lassiter (tetsushinshi)



Category: Psych
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Shassie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tetsushinshi/pseuds/Carlton%20J%20Lassiter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distracted detective and a clever psychic come together in the ultimate confused face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An otter is the smaller version of a bear. As in the gay porn term.

Carlton Lassiter sat at his desk, scribbling away at his paperwork. There were no cases that needed solving, but Shawn Spencer had come ambling through no less than six times before ten o'clock that morning. By the time he went to lunch, Carlton had seen him wandering around a grand total of twelve times. Not a single one of those times had they made eye contact, and not a single one of those times had Carlton not turned on his heel and made a swift getaway. When he had returned from lunch, Shawn had disappeared, nowhere to be seen. At least that meant Carlton didn't have to avoid him anymore.

He was at his desk, and had only turned his attention away from his surroundings for a millisecond, when Shawn came sauntering in and planted himself nonchalantly at the bulletin board nearest Juliet's place. Carlton gave him a passing glance, which of course he took as an invitation to blunder over like an excitable puppy and occupy the space in front of the detective's desk.

"G'moring Lassie-face!" he beamed, and Carlton sighed at him.

"It's two in the afternoon, you dunce," he retorted.

"It's morning someplace or other," Shawn whined.

Carlton put down his pen and folded his hands under his chin, smiling sardonically. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Why, yes, yes there is," Shawn declared with a pause.

The pause turned into a full-stop, and finally Carlton spoke up. "What do you want, Spencer," he growled.

"Well..." Shawn began, "Maybe...Go for a drink tonight. With you. Eight sound good?"

"Shawn," Carlton sighed, "I would honestly rather make out with an otter."

Shawn hesitated for five entire seconds, and stooped in low and close to the other. "Okay," he breathed, and pressed his lips to Carlton's.

Just as Shawn had expected and planned, the detective's eyes went wide as saucers and his mouth fell open. The psychic seized the opportunity and pressed on, slipping his tongue softly between the other's lips, touching his fingertips to the side of the detective's neck. he moved gingerly and slowly, exploring the other with his tongue. At last, he broke away. He locked eyes with the detective and licked his lips.

"I'll pick you up at 7:45 this evening. 'Kay?" Shawn inquired. Carlton was speechless, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. He simply stared at the psychic. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'" And with that, he padded out the door, leaving Carlton sitting at his desk, just as dumbfounded as the onlookers.


	2. The Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlton gets flustered, Shawn almost acts like a grownup, and there is a conversation regarding transportation.

      Carlton lifted his head up as people began calling their goodbyes. It was only 6:10, though, so he decided he would stay for another half hour. He didn't know what he should be feeling about Shawn and the date.

      He had been in a sort of daze since the kiss. He hadn't known how he felt about Shawn until then. That's why he had pretended to hate him. He wished Shawn had picked a less populated area to pull his stunt.

      He didn't get any work done in the half hour he stayed, and eventually, he stood from his desk and absently meandered to the front of the building. He fished his keys from his pocket and slid into the front seat of his car. He hated himself for being so enraptured by the events of the day. He shook his head, actually physically shook his head, and started the vehicle.

      The drive to his apartment was a blur of habit. It was only when he turned the house key in the lock that he realized: Shawn didn't know where he lived. He fumbled into his apartment and shifted piles of newspapers, scrapbooks filled with case reports, and empty beer bottles until he found his house phone. He then wondered why he hadn't just used his cell. He dialed the number, which he had committed to memory (force of habit), and listened to the jittering tone on the other end of the transmission.

      Just as he had given up, there was a soft click, and Shawn's voice drifted to his ear.

"Hello?" the psychic said cheerily.

"Hey, Spencer," Carlton sputtered. "You don't know my address."

"Oh, hey Lassieface," Shawn yipped. "Of course I do! What kind of psychic would I be if I didn't know your address?"

"Oh, uh- I-"

"Let's see, what time is it?"

"Um, 7:15."

"Alrighty, I'll be there in half an hour."

"Oh, uhm, okay but-"

"See you!" And with that, the Shawn hung up the phone.

      Carlton scrambled to his bedroom, deciding along the way that Shawn wouldn't want him in a suit. He dug through his closet until he came up with his casual-est casual shirt: a gunmetal grey Queen shirt that he had had since practically the dawn of time.

      He turned in a circle in the center of his room, searching for the stack of jeans that he very rarely wore. When he found it, he sifted through it until he unearthed his favorite pair of worn-out Wellingtons. He shoved himself into them and sat on the edge of his bed. He _needed_ to calm down.

      He almost felt sick to his stomach. He forced himself to suck in three consecutive deep breaths, and closed his eyes. He was far too worked up, and over Shawn? Unacceptable. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, leaning his palms against the edges of the sink and staring himself down in the mirror.

      His hair was a wreck and his cheeks were redder than he would have liked. He sighed and turned on the tap, brushing his teeth and washing his face. He opened the cabinet as he dried his neck and, toothbrush still dangling from his mouth, took out a bottle of Zegna Uomo – which he had gotten when he and his wife had first started dating – and applied a single spritz to the middle of his chest.

      He finished brushing his teeth and stared at himself again. Much better, he thought, pushing his hair into place. He went to find a pair of more relaxed shoes. Just as he finished tying the second one, there was a knock at the door.

      He went through the apartment, looking through the peep-hole on the front door to find Shawn shifting impatiently on the other side. Carlton sighed and laid his hand on the doorknob, bracing himself. He twisted the knob and opened the door, taking his keys and his wallet from the table beside it. Shawn looked almost startled that he'd actually been there.

"Hey, Lassie!" he said, cheery as ever. Carlton thought there was a tremor in the psychic's voice, though. "Ready to go?"

"Yes," the detective replied, a little too shortly. He was putting back up his walls, and they needed calibrated.

"Uh- Great! Let's go."

"Hold on," Carlton turned and locked the front door, then stepped past Shawn and descended the stairs. The psychic hesitated before following. He got to the street and looked around. "Where's your car?"

"Right there," Shawn pointed to a motorbike propped up along the sidewalk across the street. Carlton almost turned around and went back inside. _A motorcycle?!_ he thought, _Does he think I'm stupid?!_

"Oh, oh ho ho," the detective chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back and turning to Shawn, scoffing one last time. "Ha ha ha, no."

"Carlton, it's safe, I promise," the psychic traded. "I'm a good driver."

"Spencer, I have seen more than one horrifying, mangled body after a motorcycle wreck. I'm _not_ about to be one of them."

"Carlton-" he let out a sigh and deflated. "Please? I'll be extra careful, promise."

      The taller of them studied the other's face contemptuously, looking for a reason to back out. At length, he sighed, and nodded his head slowly. Shawn practically exploded, but he reigned himself in quickly.

"Are you sure?" he asked hopefully.

"No," the older man sighed, disheartened. "But I don't really have another option."

"Okay, uh, here," Shawn handed him a black helmet.

      Carlton took it hesitantly and looked it over. Shawn mounted the bike and the detective stared at him. His blue eyes were filled with apprehension, and Shawn saw it. Finally, Carlton donned the helmet and boarded the motorcycle cautiously. With a sputter and a roar, they were off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been months, but I got bored in Spanish class this morning and I decided to continue the saga. Carlton is just the dorkiest guy and I can practically see him doing these things. Shawn is almost a reasonable guy sometimes. I'm happy with how this turned out.
> 
> If you guys find any mistakes or have any suggestions, let me know! Thanks!


End file.
